


Paper Angels

by nervoussis



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: California, Domestic Fluff, First Dates, Light Angst, M/M, Running Away Together, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:35:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27760018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nervoussis/pseuds/nervoussis
Summary: His eyes were pretty. Had they always been that pretty? Steve couldn’t remember but then Billy was leaning in, cheeks pink from laughter and whispering, You ain’t half bad, Harrington, into the shell of Steve’s ear.Like it was a secret only the two of them could remedy, and. Billy pulled away. Winked, waggled his stupid, ridiculous tongue, and. When he passed by he smelled like summer rain. Black pepper and grapefruit.Steve closed his eyes and felt the love leaking from his ears.Shit.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 11
Kudos: 91





	Paper Angels

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coffeeandchemicals](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandchemicals/gifts).



The things is. Steve’s always had a sixth sense when it comes to falling in love. Can smell that shit from a mile away, the reeking infatuation that turns his already liquified brain into something like sludge. Mashed potatoes with too much milk, or something. 

And it used to be that Robin would point it out in that usual way of hers, before Steve became a pro at monitoring his own downfall. _Pick your tongue up off the floor, dingus._

And it used to be that Steve would take it like. A basketball to the back of the head, the realization that he was bleeding out in an open field for fucking _whoever._ Nancy Wheeler or Mark Lewinski or Brittani Clark. Robin could always sense it when Steve’s feelings started leaking out of his ears, but.

Billy Hargrove was something else entirely.

Neither of them saw it coming. The pushes and snarky comments that morphed into butterflies and concealed smiles under the light of the full moon, it was like.

Crossing a deserted road only to be fuckin’. T-boned by a cyclist who doesn’t have their lights on, or something. 

One day they were enemies. Avoiding each other like the plague--Billy actually _gagged_ when Steve passed by him at parties. Called him Steve “Sloppy Seconds” Harrington, and. Yeah. The feeling was fuckin’ mutual, alright?

Because Hargrove always wore too much cologne and Steve had the sneaking suspicion, after that night at the Byers’ when contact sports took on a whole new meaning with the sound of ceramic against his skull, that Billy perfumed his dick.

Sometimes guys did that, he’d heard. And if Steve had to bet, like, _cold hard cash_ on it, Billy Hargrove was definitely one of those guys. And not that Steve really. Thought about it much or anything but kissing Billy was probably like licking the inside of an ash tray. 

Just the thought of made him gag.

So, yeah. The feeling was mutual. The queasiness in Steve’s tummy was, like, _disgust_ or something. Every time he saw that curly top above a sea of drunk high schoolers, he would start sweating a shit.

Bullets. Like he was going to face the electric chair, and. Steve had never thought for even a second that _that_ feeling was mutual. 

That Billy would be anxious to see him. Would escape the moment he heard Steve rounding the corner into whatever lame party was on the ducat this week, so. When they eventually became friends. _Best Friends,_ close as a couple of girls, it felt like Steve had solved the most difficult puzzle in the universe. 

They were shitfaced. Drunk enough to forget ceramic plates and nervous feelings, and Billy had tried to high-five him. Steve, on his way out for a smoke. Passed by with a little, _well if it isn’t the leftover turkey,_ and. It would’ve been cool, but. They missed. 

By a lot. Two guys who never sat on the bench during a game, they. Fuckin’ couldn’t land a high five from less than a foot away and that was it. Billy’s walls crumbled around them like so much graham cracker dust, and. 

His eyes were pretty. Had they always been that pretty? Steve couldn’t remember but then Billy was leaning in, cheeks pink from laughter and whispering, _You ain’t half bad, Harrington,_ into the shell of Steve’s ear. 

Like it was a secret only the two of them could remedy, and. Billy pulled away. Winked, waggled his stupid, ridiculous tongue, and. When he passed by he smelled like summer rain. Black pepper and grapefruit.

Steve closed his eyes and felt the love leaking from his ears.

Shit.

\--

After that it was like surviving a forest fire. Billy would show up at Steve’s just before midnight with a six pack of Budweiser and a half smoked joint. On bad day’s he acted like coming to Steve’s house was a chore, like. Steve was holding him at gunpoint, preaching about commitments like Steve had even asked for his company in the first place, and.

On those nights it almost wasn’t worth it. The feeling of being close to Billy, it was. Hard to talk to him. 

And it wasn’t like falling slowly. Through syrup or stacks of blankets, like his usual style, it was like. 

Getting in the car and driving way, into the night, with no map and no funds and no clue of what the end would look like. Steve fell hard and fast and slammed into the ground until he was one with the molten earth, on the good nights, too. When Billy grinned and cracked jokes and fuckin’. Winked. 

So. The good outweighed the bad. For months, for _millennia,_ it seemed. Until Steve couldn’t remember a time when midnight didn’t signal the arrival of love. And he would take it, anything, everything, for just a peak at the person he knew was hidden under all that hairspray and chiseled skin, so.

When Billy showed up one night with his car packed full of shit, Steve grabbed his coat without a word.

_What are you doin’, Harrington._

_I’m coming with you._

_No you aren’t, that’s not. Look. I just came to say goodbye, so._

_Not that easy to get rid of._

Billy tried to fight him, tried to. Hold him off, or something. Like any force in the fucking universe would be strong enough to keep them apart. 

Steve made a face.

And Billy knew what that face _meant_ so he cleaned out the passenger side of the Camaro. Stupid shit like lamps and folded quilts, shuffling it all to the back seat where there was clearly enough space. 

It was almost like. He had known what Steve would do. 

It was like he’d been preparing to say _no, baby. I don’t have enough room, see? I’m saddled with more than I can take already, and I just--_

Almost like he was hoping Steve would insist, anyway, and.

“Go pack a bag, pretty boy.”

Steve would follow him anywhere.

\--

Billy came alive in California. The bad nights stopped existing out in the open air, they hid instead. Under the blanket of nightfall, under the sling of Steve’s arm. They paid extra for a two bedroom apartment on the beach, because.

_I’m not expecting you to. Sleep in my bed, Steve._

Right. They were still pretending. 

The second bedroom sat collecting dust. Steve emptied his trash bag of essentials into the dresser in Billy’s room, because. The love was constantly ruining his shirts, these days. 

Steve bled blue and gold. Blatantly. Because he never felt it before, this. Feeling. Like the sand is being washed from his skin. Like he’s curling up in bed after a long day of hard work.

Billy makes him feel that way, so.

Steve can’t hide it. And he doesn’t try to. Not when they watch cartoons together on the couch, not when Billy sucks a hole into his neck under their blanket in their bed and asks, _we goin’ steady?_ Like it’s even a fucking question, or something, but.

Steve realizes they went backwards. Won the game before actually learning the rules. 

_Do you wanna go on a date with me?_ He asks one morning. It’s raining, so Billy isn’t surfing and Steve isn’t sketching out on the porch, and. 

It seems as good a time as any.

Billy has milk running down his chin when he looks up, eyes so blue and wide like he never expected it to fucking happen. _Isn’t this a date?_

_What?_

_Right now,_ Billy says through a mouthful of Lucky Charms. _We’re eating. Alone. Making eyes at each other over our meal--_

Steve snorts. _This isn’t a date._

And Billy’s face, fucking. Falls. He rinses his plate in the sink and kinda, doesn’t turn back around. Steve doesn’t know how he fucked it up already. 

_Bills?_

_What’s a date look like then?_ And that. Makes Steve laugh. 

_You’ve been on, like. So many dates, baby._

_Not with you._ Billy says flatly. When he turns around again his cheeks are pink. Not from laughter, but. From something else. _I never went on any dates with you, so. How would I identify one in a crowd._

And Steve knows. Instantly, knows he’s not going to get out of this one. 

_Perfect first date shit, alright, I can. I can do that._ He leans back in the hideous avocado green chair Billy picked out and. Sucks on his bottom lip. _We have the day free. Because, um. It’s the off season. Right after labor day and, uh. The shop’s getting ready to shift into winter._

Billy grins. _So in your perfect scenario we’re broke?_

_Listen, asshole wouldja just--_

_Alright, baby._ Billy sits in the chair across from him and looks, fucking. So pretty in Avocado Green. _I’m listening._

So Steve tells him. Their perfect date begins and ends with ease, it’s as simple as breathing. The way it’s always been for them. Natural. Steve packs a basket with a goddamn. Charcuterie board and like, fresh fruit and shit. The sun sets and Steve gets down on one knee and--

 _Our first date is a picnic. On a beach..under the stars?_ Billy doesn’t look even a little bit like laughing, not. Not when his nose goes all bunchy. _Have you swallowed a romance novel? Do I need to call a doctor?_

Steve isn’t really in the mood for jokes. 

He covers his face with his hands, because. They went backwards. Never even put labels on it, or second guessed anything because Steve won the lottery. That night when the high fives went up in smoke, he. 

Got everything he ever wanted.

Billy tugs at his wrists. Yanks and soothes and rearranges Steve’s skin until they’re chest to chest against avocado green. His eyes are teary. Fuck.

 _I didn’t mean to make you cry, baby._ Steve says. _‘S a bad idea anyhow, too much pressure. You mean a lot and I fuckin’. Made you cry. Tears were never a part of the deal._

Billy lets Steve wipe his cheeks and then he’s smiling. 

Not grinning or smirking or teasing, but. Happy. _We could make this a date._

Steve shrugs. _Yeah, I guess we could._

 _Pack some sandwiches, sit on the patio._ Billy winks. Just like all those nights when neither boy could give their emotions a name. _Take away some of the pressure._

_I kinda dig the pressure, though._

_Were you really gonna get down on one knee?_ Billy whispers. _At the end of our first date? You know the statistics on divorce are--_

Against his will, Steve’s chucking. 

_And on the first date?_ Billy tuts, cheeks pink again. _You know I don’t put out for any ol’ pair of brown eyes, Harrington. I wait until at least the fourth date._

_It’s been five years._

_So marry me._ Billy says. _On Tuesday or something, we can. Go to the beach or whatever. Elope._

And. 

Just like that night. With the Camaro stuffed to the brim, and Billy gripping his fingers like a lifeline in a storm, Steve has no choice. He never did, because. Yeah.

He kisses Billy, each cheek, both eyelids, before carrying him to their bedroom and wonders. If they’ll ever start at the beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what it is about Kellie but any time she asks me to write the inspiration comes flooding in. It kind of ran away with me, but I hope you enjoyed it anyhow. lysm, friend. I hope all is well.


End file.
